


Thy Lord, Thy Life, Thy Keeper

by Feelforfaith



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 02:45:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17696147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feelforfaith/pseuds/Feelforfaith
Summary: When Thor was leaving the great hall earlier in the evening, among lewd cheers of his companions, he looked as if he were about to conquer the entire world. Now that he has, there is no victory in his eyes.His hair is a mess of gold; loose, white undershirt thrown over his leather trousers is stained with red at the hem. Loki's stomach churns at the thought that it might not be wine."Why are you sitting outside my door, like a dog?" he says, standing over Thor.





	Thy Lord, Thy Life, Thy Keeper

Loki can't sleep. The exhaustion of the last days combined with all the wine he's drunk since this morning should be catching up with him, and yet, he's been lying on the bed for hours now, but sleep, that elusive courtesan, hasn't come. Distant voices echo through the halls, drunk and merry as they should be on a night of celebration like this.

A breeze from the outside whispers chill at his skin. Stars from distances far away whisper chill at his mind; soon they will dim against the brightening sky. Will he ever be able to find sleep again?

He reaches for wine on the bedside table, downs it and gives up on trying. Barefoot, he crosses the stone tiles of his chamber and pushes the door open.

The shadows of the columns across from his bedchamber hide a figure sitting on the floor, one leg bent and his back against the wall.

Perhaps he can't sleep either.

Perhaps he doesn't deserve to.

Hearing Loki's footsteps Thor lifts his head, and their gazes meet in a fleeting connection before he drops his head again.

When Thor was leaving the great hall earlier in the evening, among lewd cheers of his companions, he looked as if he were about to conquer the entire world. Now that he has, there is no victory in his eyes.

His hair is a mess of gold; loose, white undershirt thrown over his leather trousers is stained with red at the hem. Loki's stomach churns at the thought that it might not be wine.

"Why are you sitting outside my door, like a dog?" he says, standing over Thor.

Head still down, face obscured by shadows, Thor fiddles with a buckle on his boot.

Loki sighs and lowers himself to sit next to him. Thor has never been one to pour his heart out, but then, neither has Loki. For all the ways they are different—brothers, not-brothers; the heir apparent and the second best; the righteous one and the god of lies—sometimes they are not all that different deep inside.

He shifts, and his shoulder brushes Thor's. He resists the comfort the closeness offers him, but he doesn't want to move away either.

"Where is your bride?" he asks, like he's scratching at a scab so fresh, it bleeds at the lightest touch, but he can't stop himself.

"Asleep, I hope."

"You must have tired her out."

"She was not complaining."

And why would she—if there was one thing women never complained about, it was how his brother treated them between the sheets.

It would be so easy to hate her, but hate is such an exasperating state of mind, and as much it would bring him relief to indulge, he knows the relief would be short-lived. Besides, she is not the one he should hate.

He pulls his knees up and wraps his arms around them. "Was she a virgin?"

Thor hesitates before he answers as if he thinks Loki doesn't have the right to ask this. "Yes."

"Of course she was. You wouldn't have it any other way."

"Why do you ask then?"

"Tell me, brother, how you deflowered your beautiful bride on your wedding night. Tell me everything. I crave all the details." The scab is bleeding again.

Thor folds in on himself, hunches his shoulders, doesn't answer.

The sight of him makes something hot and ugly twist in Loki's guts. It coils inside him like a serpent, and he grips it with both hands and doesn't let go.

"Tell me, was she obedient, the way a good wife should be?" he says. "Did she submit her soft body to you without resistance? Did you have to be gentle so you wouldn't hurt her?"

Thor's nostrils flare. "Loki." The word barely gets out past his gritted teeth.

So there is something left inside Thor that Loki can still rouse and make roar.

"Did you want to hold her down with your whole body and fuck her while she was struggling against you and fighting you?" Loki's eyes slip shut; his fingernails dig into his palms. His mind flashes the image of Thor shaking, fiery, on the verge of losing control, magnificent. "Did you want to leave bruises on her thighs that would brand your name into her skin?"

Beside him, Thor's body jerks; his breathing quickens.

Loki swallows the venom in his mouth. "Tell me, brother, did you want that?" When he opens his eyes and turns his head to Thor, Thor's eyes are burning into him, lightning-blue.

"Yes."

Thor leans in and slips his fingers into Loki's hair, his hand cradling the back of Loki's head, so big and strong, it could crush his skull with no effort. Loki breathes a moan when the fingers tangle in his hair and drag him closer, but he pushes back against Thor's hand, and his body tenses with anticipation.

Thor tightens his grip on Loki's hair, making Loki wince, and forces their heads together. He smells sweetly of mead and sex, and boundless want that wakes the worst yearning in Loki, always has for as long as he can remember, such yearning that never ceases, no matter how much you want to be rid of it.

He twists his face away from Thor's mouth, but he doesn't know if he's fighting Thor out of habit, because this is what they _do,_ or if he truly doesn't want the kiss, and it frightens him that he can't tell the difference.

Thor grasps Loki's head in both hands, his calloused thumbs digging into Loki's cheekbones, and forces Loki to look at him.

Loki does, and he falls into Thor's eyes, into Thor's kiss, and he lets himself forget everything that is not this moment, now and here, with Thor's hands on him, and Thor's mouth on his mouth. He used to have a right to this—it wasn't his by birth, nor by conquest, nor by vows, but by the right of what was given and taken freely.

Violent heat and sharp teeth, Thor's mouth does not taste of transgression—it tastes the same as it did the night before and every night Thor spent in Loki's bed.

"Let me have this, Loki," Thor growls, and his hands slither from Loki's hair down, underneath his shirt, teasing his skin with a promise of that which comes afterward. "Please, I need you."

Thor never used to ask for what he desired—Thor demanded and claimed as his and always offered all of himself in return. But Thor doesn't belong to Loki anymore.

"No." He scrambles backward, shoving Thor away. "No."

Thor's outstretched hands close around empty air between them. They are both panting, their eyes locked, a silent question in Thor's.

Loki wipes his mouth as if he tasted wine turned to vinegar. "You don't get to have this. Not anymore. You had a choice, and you chose ... her." _And_ _the crown._ _And_ _the approval of Odin._ _And_ _Asgard._

Thor has chosen everything else over Loki, and Loki is again the little brother Thor used to leave behind when he went off to play with his real friends.

"I did not have a choice." Thor closes his hands into fists. "It had to be that way. You know this, Loki."

His voice breaks on Loki's name, shatters into pieces. It used to shatter into sparkling green gemstones when Thor was whispering his name in Loki's arms, when it was just the two of them who existed in the whole nine realms. Now it shatters into shards of glass.

Loki drags himself to his feet. "Go back to your own bed, brother, back to your bride. I hope she makes you happy, the way you deserve to be."

Is it still lying if his words are false, but he wants them to be true, even if each of them hurts like a slash of a knife?

"Please, Loki."

It takes all his willpower not to turn around as he stops at the threshold to his chamber. "And don't come here again. Not tomorrow, not ever."

The door closes behind him with a heavy thud, as if a vault sealing shut, and he leans against it, his legs not steady enough to keep him upright.

He hates Thor for the bruises Thor has left on his heart, but he hates himself more for hoping that someday his brother will come to his door again.  
  


(end)


End file.
